


The Second Star to the Right

by meteoritecrater



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meteoritecrater/pseuds/meteoritecrater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I won't grow up, I will never grow a day, and if someone tries to make me, I will simply run away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Second Star to the Right

**_The second star to the right  
Shines in the night, for you  
To tell you that the dreams you plan  
Really can come true_**  
  
**  
  
Santana’s hands are still trembling when she puts the DVD in. She curls into her bed as the opening credits play, wrapping her arms and her covers around herself, so that her face is the only thing not hidden.  
  
At the first words of the voiceover, Santana has to dip her head beneath the covers to swipe her fisted hands across her cheeks. The tinny voice hits her in the fragile place she’s trying not to remember. Disney movies aren’t supposed to be for remembering; they’re for forgetting. Forgetting the harsh words that had come out of her mouth, forgetting turning away so she didn’t have to see Brittany’s face drop, forgetting leaving before Brittany could ask for more than a duet.   
  
As always, Brittany pushed, and she ran away.   
  
Peter Pan’s voice-over vibrates in her skull: “ _All this has happened before, and it will all happen again._ ”  
  
**  
  
 _“I want to dance and climb trees forever, and never grow up,” Brittany said, skipping over Quinn’s outstretched legs and tumbling towards Santana, until their cheeks were pressed up against each other and her arms were around her shoulders. “San, come to Neverland with me.”  
  
“But I _want _to grow up.” Brittany was so close that Santana had to cross her eyes to see her properly.  
  
“Well, okay, you can do that later. We can pretend for a bit first. I’m being Peter Pan so I can battle Captain Hook and stay a kid for always. You can be Wendy. So I’m going to come to your window and take you to Neverland,” Brittany said, holding her hands out like a plane and leaping up to twirl around. She was in the air for such a long moment it almost did look like she was flying.  
  
“No way! I’m not Wendy! Quinn’s totally Wendy. I’m not that… that… _girly _. Gross.”  
  
“I’ll be Wendy,” Quinn said placidly, looking up from her daisy chain. “You can be Tiger Lily. Or Tiger Daisy,” she giggled, wriggling over and taking Santana’s wrist. Santana held so still she almost stopped breathing, until Quinn fastened the delicate bracelet around her wrist, her tongue poking out as she fixed the ends together. “Don’t break it,” she told Santana seriously.  
  
“I won’t,” Santana promised, grinning at it. “It’s pretty.”  
  
“You make the beautifullest daisy chains in the world,” Brittany said, stroking one of the petals gently. “But you have to give me back my shadow now,” she demanded.  
  
“Okay. Here, I’ll sew it on,” Quinn said, picking up a stem of grass and tickling the bottom of Brittany’s feet with it. Brittany giggled, wriggling her toes. “Now you have to take me to Neverland,” Quinn told her.  
  
“Wait, you’re missing out parts,” Brittany said importantly. “You’ve got to teach me what a kiss is first.”  
  
“Ew, I’m not kissing you, Britt. That’s gross. You’re a girl.”  
  
“Oh,” Brittany said. “Well San can be Wendy for this bit.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Teach me what a kiss is,” Brittany told her. “You said you weren’t girly.”  
  
Santana would have gone along with it, but Quinn was looking at her expectantly, so she shrugged, an uncomfortable hot itch in between her shoulder blades. “That’s gross, Britt. Girls don’t kiss each other.”  
  
Quinn nodded and smiled at her, but Brittany’s grin faltered, and the rest of the game wasn’t as fun as it should have been.  
  
Santana broke the daisy chain from around her wrist as soon as she got home.  
  
**  
  
 **I won’t grow up  
I will never grow a day**_  
  
**  
  
“This is going to be such a sucky Christmas,” Brittany said, thumping the heel of her sneaker back against the leg of her chair and looking up from her English essay, which was currently a piece of paper with a title and her name at the top, carefully underlined five times in different colours.  
  
“B, if this is ‘cause I said I wasn’t going to buy you a penguin… seriously. You can’t keep a pet penguin in Ohio.” Santana paused, rolling over onto her side to see her more clearly. “Even if they totally are the most adorable animal ever.”   
  
“I didn’t mean that, I meant everything else. But I’m not stupid, I’d keep it in the freezer.”  
  
“Right,” Santana drawled. “I’m still not buying you a penguin. Try something from the mall instead.”  
  
Brittany made a face at her and sighed. “I’m getting you exactly what you want.”  
  
Santana was going to have to take Brittany’s word for that, because she wasn’t sure she wanted anything but Brittany back, and Brittany was keeping her present completely secret.  
  
“But like, Rachel and Finn aren’t talking, the whole of glee club is getting slushied like, daily, Coach kicked out that cute ginger fresher because her roots were showing, there’s way too much work to do ‘cause we’re juniors now or whatever, Kurt’s  _left_ ,” Santana looked alarmed because Brittany had a tendency to start crying right after she remembered that, “you and Quinn aren’t talking, you and m…” she cut herself off abruptly, kicking her feet out and running a hand through her hair. “Sucky Christmas.”  
  
Santana put down her pen carefully and sat up. “Britt… you and me, we’re fine.”  
  
“Yeah,” Brittany said, tapping her fingers on the edge of the desk and looking at a point somewhere above Santana’s head.  
  
Well, okay, maybe not  _fine_. They were hanging out less than they used to, and when they were together nothing was as easy as it used to be. Trying to hold herself back from saying anything unsupportive whenever Brittany talked about Artie made words clog up inside Santana until she just felt like punching something, and trying to hold herself back from just reaching out and touching Brittany whenever she felt like it was strange and Santana hated every second of it. But she was trying, and they were hanging out, and that had to count for something. “Well. Okay. You’ve got Artie, though.”  
  
“Yeah,” Brittany said. “Everyone’s just been so sad lately. You know what everyone needs? A proper Christmas. With decorations and stuff. We should decorate the choir room.”  
  
“Really?” Santana asked, barely suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
Santana sighed. “All right, I guess. I don’t know where we’ll get a tree from though… and Puck and Berry are Jewish.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean they don’t need happiness. We need a tree. And magic. I just wish everyone could manage to like each other for a little while. Just for Christmas,” Brittany said wistfully.  
  
“I can’t get you that for Christmas, B. I would if I could.”  
  
“You could be friends with Quinn again for me, though.”  
  
Santana stared at Brittany incredulously. “Seriously. You want me to be friends with Quinn again. For your Christmas present.”  
  
“Yep,” Brittany said, nodding decidedly.  
  
“That’s…” Brittany was looking at her too hopefully, and Santana suppressed a groan. This was not going to lead anywhere good.  
  
“You did say you’d get me anything I wanted,” Brittany reminded her.  
  
“I did,” Santana said, defeated.  
  
“So it’s either you and Q take a shopping trip together and we have an actual proper slumber party and you guys stop fighting, or you get me the other thing I want.”  
  
“What’s the other thing?” Santana asked, hoping for something easier than friendship with Quinn or a penguin; something she could use her dad’s money to buy.  
  
“Artie to be able to walk,” Brittany said, a little unhappy twist to her mouth that hurt Santana in a way it shouldn’t have still been able to.  
  
“Oh. B…”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” she said, shrugging. “Santa could totally do it.”  
  
“B,” Santana said, her voice gentle. Brittany coloured, shrugging again.  
  
“Well he could. You know how it used to be, when you were pretty sure Santa could do anything? And that Christmas you asked for a rocket to take you away because you didn’t want to be stuck in Lima anymore?”  
  
“And you cried until I sent another letter telling Santa I needed a rocket for two people, I remember,” Santana said, grinning at her.  
  
“Yeah, well,” Brittany screwed up her nose and stuck her tongue out to make her face look so awful Santana couldn’t help but laugh, and for a moment the air between them almost felt clear. “But like, the part before the part where your parents bought you a telescope, which, worst Christmas present ever we totally didn’t even figure out a use for that until that guy who kept the curtains open moved in opposite you.”  
  
That had been kind of awesome, actually. Brittany seemed to have taken a moment to savour that mental image too, and Santana had to prompt her. “The part before the telescope?”  
  
“Oh, yeah, before the telescope, when we were so so so excited about the rocket and getting away and stuff. That was my favourite Christmas ever. ‘Cause of Santa.”  
  
Of course Santana remembered that Christmas: sitting in their tent made from sheets and clothes pegs and planning out what they’d do when they got to the moon, that was still her favourite Christmas.  
  
“So you want… what?” Santana asked, thoroughly confused by Brittany’s thought process.  
  
“Glee needs the magic of Christmas back,” Brittany said seriously. “Like it used to be. We need Santa.”   
  
“Santa,” Santana repeated blankly. “You want to hire a mall Santa for glee club?”  
  
“No, I just… I don’t know,” Brittany said, frustrated. “I just wish there was a way to bring that magic back a little bit.”  
  
“B, you can’t make them believe in Santa again.”  
  
“Also. We need Christmas socks. And earrings. We can buy that with Quinn later, you should phone her, it’ll be awesome.” Brittany looked way too excited, and Santana didn’t have the heart to tell her everything about her plan was ridiculous.  
  
It was even more ridiculous when Brittany’s plan actually worked. The rest of those fucks in glee club actually came together to make Brittany happy, and though it came at the price of everyone thinking Brittany was a child, well, even Santana kind of felt the magic of Christmas curling in her toes when she saw Brittany’s face as Artie took some steps towards her.  
  
Of course, it all fell apart shortly after, when Brittany confronted her about where the gift had come from and Santana lied so blatantly she could feel her face twist with it, but for a while there, just long enough for Christmas, it had almost felt like everything between them was going to be okay.  
  
Santana wasn’t entirely sure that that hadn’t been Brittany’s real plan all along, and she hated the way the thought made her chest jump with a want she shouldn’t have.  
  
**  
  
 _ **I won’t grow up  
I will never grow a day  
And if someone tries to make me  
I will simply run away**_  
  
**  
  
The room is lit only by curtain-filtered street lamps when Santana sits up with a jolt, sleep fading from her limbs with the shadows of her dream. There’s a strange twist inside her chest as she fumbles for her phone, squinting at the display. It’s too late to call anyone, but she flicks through her contacts until her finger is hovering over Brittany’s number.  
  
 _Fuck it._  “You called me at six on a Saturday when you were looking at your phone upside down,” Santana blurts, and she feels like this is how all their conversations have been going lately, words laced with excuses and things she’s not able to say.  
  
Brittany breathes into the phone for a second, and her voice is muffled when she says, “Oh, yeah, I did.”  
  
Santana shifts, her hand curling under the pillow and clinging to the cooler fabric. “Come over.”  
  
“Awesome.” Santana hears bed covers hitting the ground before the dial tone, and she hums a half-remembered melody as she opens the window.  
  
She’s on her fifth game of Angry Birds, losing to thoughts of the urgent pressure of Brittany’s body against hers, when she hears the familiar sound of shoes scraping against brick. Brittany scrambles over the edge of her window frame, a silhouette against the yellow light from the street, and Santana grasps her hand to help her stand. Brittany can make even the most awkward clamber look graceful, so it’s more of a courtesy than a necessity, but Brittany interlaces their fingers and tugs her into a hug, so that Santana’s cheek is pressed against her and all she can breathe is air with Brittany in it.  
  
“Hi,” Brittany whispers, her lips cold as she dips her head to kiss her. Her skin warms quickly, but Brittany doesn’t take it any further than the gentle whisper of tongue and lips and warmth. Santana runs her fingers underneath her shirt curiously, because this isn’t normal. Brittany’s usually a fast worker when there’s clothes in the way of skin, but there’s a heat in her guts that’s urging her to ignore the weirdness and pull Brittany down with her on the bed. She tangles her fingers in Brittany’s hair and tugs gently, settling on top of her so that there’s nothing but soft skin and softer kisses. It’s when she takes her shirt off and Brittany’s hands don’t automatically go to touch that Santana  _knows_  there’s something wrong.  
  
She sits up, still straddling Brittany’s hips, and sighs. “Are you seriously mad at me for waking you up?”  
  
“What? You didn’t wake me up.” Brittany’s hair is covering her chest in pretty rolling curls and Santana really wants to say never mind and just hurry this along a bit, because they have school in five hours and Coach had ordered them to be at a ridiculous extra training afterwards, but…  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Brittany reaches out a hand to slide it along the plane of Santana’s back, then seems to remember why Santana is half naked on top of her and makes a half-hearted effort to palm a breast.  
  
“You’re totally not even a little bit fine,” Santana says accusingly. She leans to roll from Brittany’s hips, but Brittany’s face drops so suddenly that Santana ends up awkwardly masking the move with a stretch. She leans forward instead, cupping Brittany’s cheek and kissing her, letting her heartbeat slow and the ache of need comfort itself with just this: the careful press of her lips to Brittany’s, and the slide of skin on skin as she curls herself into her body, tracing lazy patterns in her hair. “Britt.” She’s almost cheek to cheek with her as she whispers it, and Brittany’s arms wind around her, clutching her closer.  
  
“It’s stupid.” Brittany’s hands are tight against her skin, and the words are whispered into the crook of her neck. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have come over. I can still—” Her lips suck gently underneath her jaw, shooting an urgent want through every part of Santana’s body. She jolts her head away, the twist in her chest tightening until it’s hard to breath. The air around her has too much Brittany and not enough, and Santana clenches her jaw, nuzzling into Brittany’s arm and taking a small piece of her skin in between her teeth and gently pulling.  
  
“Britt-Britt… what are we?”  
  
“Not in love,” Brittany says promptly.  
  
Santana’s heart clenches. “No, I mean, what are we? Before this.”  
  
“I don’t know.” Brittany’s forehead creases, and her words are too cautious.  
  
Santana bites down on her lip, finding herself uncomfortably close to tears. “You’re my best friend, Britt.”  
  
Brittany’s smile is bright in the darkness, and she traces a finger along Santana’s hairline. “Forever, yeah?”   
  
Santana suppresses a shiver and nods, holding her pinky out. Brittany takes it, resting their joined hands on Santana’s shoulder and sealing them together with a feather light kiss.  
  
“And as your best friend, we don’t always have to… you need to tell me what’s wrong, Britts.”  
  
“It’s stupid,” Brittany repeats, but she doesn’t whisper it this time. “It’s just, tomorrow, coach’s extra practice thing is orange.”   
  
Santana’s mind races to catch up to Brittany’s logic. “Mandarin. I mean. Mandatory.”  
  
“Right,” Brittany says, nodding. “So it means I can’t go to my hip hop class with Mike, and we’re s’posed to be doing this performance thing and I was really looking forward to it. That’s all. Told you it was stupid.”  
  
“It’s not stupid,” Santana says, though the tight bands of speculation around her chest ease. “If it’s making you sad, it’s not stupid. I’m your best friend, you’re supposed to tell me stuff like this.”   
  
“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about feelings.” There’s too much of a challenge in Brittany’s words, and Santana licks her lips, considering how best to distract her when making out isn’t an option.  
  
“We’re best friends, Britt. When we’re being bffs, we can talk about stuff like that.”  
  
“Then what’s the difference between best friends who have sex, and dating?” Brittany asks in a whisper, curling her pinky tighter. There’s a chill that runs through Santana’s blood, freezing her breath so it sticks in her lungs.  
  
“It’s not the same. We’re just best friends, who have sex. They’re two separate things.” Brittany stares at her, looking wholly unconvinced, until Santana adds forcefully. “We’re both girls, okay? The sex doesn’t count. The friend part does.”  
  
“I don’t get how that’s different to what Artie and I do.”  
  
She’s pushing. She’s pushing too hard and she said his name and Santana’s first instinct is to push back until Brittany flies back out the window, but there’s a tilt to Brittany’s lips and a crease in her forehead, and neither of those things should be there. “It’s all in the plumbing, Britt. He’s a boy, I’m a girl. It’s different. It doesn’t count.” Her voice is low, and Brittany’s eyes flicker with the awareness that that’s all she’s going to get. Sometimes it’s nice how well Brittany knows her – but times like now, it just means she knows exactly how far she can push before Santana leaves, and she takes advantage of it way too often.   
  
Still, Brittany’s fingers are idly running up and down her back, and it helps melt some of the unease because Brittany is way too close to  _right_. The line between best friend and girl she’s dizzy in love with is blurring more and more each day, and she’s not even sure she can see it anymore.   
  
She aches to get up and out of here, but Brittany’s knee is trapping her thigh to the mattress, and she’s curling around her, warmer than any blanket. It makes her viciously happy that Brittany’s here instead of there, that she’s got her now, instead of him, and she knows what it means. She knows, but all she can do is stare out the window until the stars blur into each other, hoping for a day when she can stay like this, wrapped up in Brittany forever, without the fear bursting in her chest and the dread pooling in her stomach, because she’s terrified of how scared she is that that day will never come.  
  
**  
  
 __ **The second star to the right**  
Shines in the night, for you  
To tell you that the dreams you plan  
Really can come true


End file.
